The Leaf


" Torn from your parent bough,
Poor leaf all withered now,
Where go you?" " I cannot tell.
Storm-stricken is the oak-tree
Where I grew, whence I fell.
Changeful continually,
The zephyr and hurricane
Since that day bid me flee
From deepest woods to the lea,
From highest hills to the plain.
Where the wind carries me
I go without fear or grief:
I go whither each one goes, —
Thither the leaf of the rose
And thither the laurel-leaf."
Author of original: 
Giacomo Leopardi
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